Retrouvaille
by Daelda
Summary: Following the events of DA: Awakening, Cousland is summoned to Denerim by the king for a report on recent events in the arling. Unsatisfied with the icy coldness of the Warden, Alistair decides to join them at Vigil's Keep to get a better understanding.
1. Chapter 1

"You'd think Denerim would give us a few days rest before they request a formal report," Nathaniel mutters irritably beside me as we make our way towards the hall. "Are you certain you don't want me to come with you?"

"I survived the Archdemon before the Mother and the Architect. I think I can handle the king's lackeys," I smile. "Besides, who would I trust to oversee the wardens if you came along?"

I wait as he mentally overturns every name on our roster before relenting with a shrug as we turn the last corner. "Fair enough. It just seems like you've been spread too thin lately. You barely had a week's rest in the last two years and you deserve it. Besides, you seem more exhausted by the prospect of returning to Denerim than anything thus far and that says something. The king was once a companion of yours, right? Is there bad blood?"

The familiar ache echoes in my chest. Nathanial has no idea how close he is to the mark and I don't intend for him to discover it. "No, I'm just weary of the blasted mess darkspawn create," I reply. "The last thing I want is to be traveling, but I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. You just watch after the Keep and make sure everyone's still here when I return."

"You have nothing to worry about here. You may have been raised for a teyrnir, but this arling was intended as my inheritance in another life. I am more than capable of running it."

As we walk through the final archway into the stables, where a young groom waits patiently with my mount, I accept the provisions Nathaniel hands me and tie them to the back of the saddle. "I don't doubt you for a minute," I say, turning back to him as I finish. "Our meeting may have been less-than-savory, but I frequently thank the maker for you. You're a good friend, Nathaniel, and a great Warden. Just promise me one thing; no matter how much they love you the arling is still mine when I return from Denerim."

He laughs at that, his face lighting for a moment. "You have my word, milady. Just come back in one piece, alright? We need you around here."

"I'll see what I can do…" I smile as I mount up, my voice dripping with exaggerated dread.


	2. Chapter 2

I stand completely rigid as I await the king in his sitting room. The extravagant furniture and decorations grate on my nerves, a stark reminder of the luxurious ease my companion so quickly adopted. How any man could so quickly disregard his allies –even those he claimed to love– is beyond me. It makes my skin crawl with fury almost as much as the idiotic flutter in my chest when I think of being in the same room again. There is no explanation for that.

I flinch almost imperceptibly when the heavy wooden door swings suddenly open, gritting my teeth as Alistair enters and an unexpected anger boils up inside me at the sight of him; his manner as brazen as ever.

"Kailis! Maker, it's good to see you!" He exclaims a half-second before my rigid expression gives him pause. Obvious confusion flits across his face. Cautiously he continutes, "It seems like an age since you were here last."

"The arling keeps me busy, my lord. There hasn't been a single quiet moment since I arrived."

Only a little irritation escapes my blank façade. My hands rest easily behind me and I look directly ahead, like a soldier receiving orders from his liege. Alistair is adequately confused, and withdrew visibly as the formality slips off my tongue.

"About that… I'm sorry to have hurtled you into more chaos." He sighs, his amber eyes probing for answers to questions he doesn't ask. "You deserved a good, long break from all this fighting and war, but it sounds like I sent you into a hornets nest instead."

I nod curtly, allowing myself a quick glance at him, respectfully refraining from the iciness I feel. "You did indeed. I hadn't even reached the Keep before the conflict broke out. I lost a good number of wardens before I even met them."

His face darkens. "How heavy were your losses in that initial onslaught? How many of the Orlesian wardens survived to see your arrival?"

"None, my lord. Mhairi, the recruit who guided me from Amaranthine is the only one I ever laid eyes on, and even she died before we secured the Keep."

Alistair shakes his head in disbelief, eyes wide at the significance of the loss. Most likely he's wondering what he'll say to their commander, not worried about their actual lives, but I bite back my retort.

"You never even met them?"

"No. None but Mhairi."

The king turns to pace away from me as he absorbs that. "I knew your losses were heavy, but I had no idea the situation was that bad. You've rebuilt since then though, right? You didn't face this alone, did you?"

I almost laugh at the look of near-genuine concern he gives me when he turns back. "Should I recount the entire experience for you now, my liege? A good deal has occurred."

"Oh yes! Can I convince you to sit?" He flusters, concern not entirely erased from his features. "You've traveled so far and I can't imagine your tale is short. Even the snippets that the messengers brought were lengthy."

"I'd rather stand, if you don't mind."

"No, of course. Whatever makes you the most comfortable."

I resist scoffing loudly. "Shall we go where your scribes can recount this?"


	3. Chapter 3

"So many!" He remarks, looking past me to the group of misfits who join us. "What do you number in all?"

"Six, milord" I state plainly, "All of which stand before you." I take pleasure in his twinge of distaste when I refer to him so formally.

He extends a hand towards Nathaniel who stands beside me, "Seven, if you include myself, although duty sadly prevents me."

"Nathaniel Howe, sir, at your service."

Alistair's eyes widen and his brow furrows in confusion as he glances at me with concern that is far too personal for my liking. Seeing me unchanged, he moves on, stepping deeper into the room to greet the next.

"You may call me Valenna." The elf's voice radiates authority and spite that I appreciate in the moment, though I often find myself pitted against her prejudice. I want our king to feel separate, like an outsider among us.

"And you," Alistair smiles, "must be Anders. The Circle sent many outraged letters of appeal that had rather frightening undertones when they heard of your conscription. Glad to have you with us."

Annoyance flares up in me as he easily weaves himself into the group. I want nothing to do with this place or with him. Though a year has passed, the bitterness still clings to me. The memory of his face as the Archdemon fled its body still comes to me at night – the worry on his face, but not nearly enough to fit the moment. The sting from his lack of concern haunts me more than that blast, although it wasn't until I came to that I fully realized what he'd done. I was alive and that witch was gone. With the taste of bile in my mouth, fury took me – hatred shielded me from the full measure of my loss. I had been so ready; wanted it even. I was alone without him, empty without my purpose, and tired of the world's trivial problems. Death seemed a sweet release. I had anticipated its peace, but even death he stole from me.

The first to rise, I had fled; running anywhere he wouldn't be. I hid behind duty until the coronation, during which I stoically accepted his _sincerest_ appreciation, and then fled to Vigil's Keep. Seeing him now, thriving and laughing as he hails Oghren, feels like the throbbing of a nearly forgotten wound. Time had dulled it somewhat, but it festered beneath the surface.

Sigrun bows her head in reverence I abhor, her cheeks flushed slightly as she clasps Alistar's hand – that hand whose roughness used to comfort me in the long, cold nights. My gut twists in confusion at the thought.

"Ignore him please, your highness. The fool always forgets to bite his tongue. I am Sigrun, at your disposal."

"That's quite an offer," Oghren insinuates boisterously.

Ignoring him with a roll of his eyes, Alistair questions her choice of words, "Disposal?"

"I hail from the Legion of the Dead, Sir. My funeral was long ago. Common purpose brought me to the Commander, and as the last of my legion, I serve faithfully and at any expense. It is a _great_ pleasure to meet you, Sire."

"The pleasure is mine. I've never been lucky enough to meet one of the Legion. The whole being dead thing doesn't seem to have slowed you down much."

Ahhh… The famous humor still remains, mocking of a more serious time. I try not to clench my jaw in response. "You summoned me, my liege?" I ask, biting back venom.

"All business, Kale?" he toys, an edge of hesitation barely noticeable in his demeanor. I cringe as he says my nickname, so reminiscent of the tone he used during _much_ friendlier times. It angers me, this attempt at something more than civility. He had undergone such _terrible_ rituals to ensure he had a Warden Commander to keep him from overwork. I was giving him what he asked, what he sought at my expense. He shouldn't dare to ask for anything more than that.

Confusion plays lightly on his features; even sadness perhaps – a quick tormented look that I ponder, maintaining my expressionless mask as I do. It doesn't make sense. At the same moment, Nathaniel shifts his weight towards me – natural, meaningless – but it catches Alistair's attention.

"I arrived here later than I planned," he says, forcing his eyes to move on. "Please go about your business. We'll talk more in the morning."

"Milord, Suranna will take you to your rooms. I will have her call for you in the morning."


End file.
